Those That Burn
by Unlaced
Summary: Instead of escaping with Miranda and Jacob after her revival, Shepard finds herself on the dirty streets of Omega trying to make sense of the last two years she spent dead. Shepard/Garrus.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: AU from the beginning of ME2. This is the spawn of a _really_ random plotbunny.

* * *

It didn't take her long to find out what she'd been dreading.

For awhile her head felt like it was cracking in a million places, and her face didn't quite feel right – her skin had this uneven feel at first, and her fingers would touch the lines etched into her cheeks and jaw. _Scars_, she figured, but she never remembered getting so fucked up in the face before _to_ get scars like these.

The landing after her escape was rough. The introductions; even worse, considering humans were on the bottom of the food chain in Omega. Recognizing her might take a bit – her face was a little different, eyes stayed the same cold blue, but the hair was longer and a shade lighter than she remembered. Worked in her advantage, even though she still didn't quite recognize her own reflection sometimes.

And then she heard the intercoms, about how there was a memorial being built in her memory on Akuze.

_In my memory._

The dates were all wrong. She thought it might have been some error, but nope, unfortunately something wasn't fucking with her and the year was correct. She'd miss two of them.

_Dying and coming back to life would do that to you._

But she could still remember how to shoot a gun. Could still remember how to put weapons together, hack terminals for any intel. Biotics still worked beautifully, although she felt strangely out of practice. Brief mercenary work had some credits swim her way, even if it was still shit but it was something to keep sustenance in her stomach and eventually off the streets. Too much infection and illness spread for her to risk it.

Weeks into Omega, and Shepard had learned a few things that had happened in her absence.

First, she died. _What a bitch._ She remembered a few things; the fire, saving Joker, deep space and then complete suffocation. Not the best last memories to have died with, but she'd get over it.

Second, a terrorist organization she never gave two-shits about decided to bring her back alive. She remembered waking up in their base, still too frazzled to concentrate or process anything, so she played smart (somehow) and played _them_ and got the fuck out. She knew they were hunting her though. Staying quiet for now, but it was only a matter of time before they came knocking their guns around the damn place for her.

Third, she had no idea what happened to her former team, except for the fact that the Normandy was obliterated and the remaining survivors reassigned. Somewhere.

Fourth, she felt funny. Physically, mostly, and there were maybe some emotional and mental stirrings with the fact that she missed two years of her life. But right now, feeling physically funny was what concerned her. Strange scars that flared red when she was in a pissy mood, and she could swear they installed some synthetic shit in her to keep the seams of her physique from tearing apart.

Fifth, Omega smelled like shit, looked like shit, and _was_ shit.

"Rumor has it there's an actual doctor in these streets," she murmured quietly to a poor quarian kid who was stuck on the damn rock, and was still trying to pay his way out.

"Heard about him. Some salarian professor." Kenn shrugged, rummaging through old scraps. "Something about helping the plague around here. Heard he's really hard to get to."

Then he paused. There wasn't really an expression behind that tinted mask she could _see_, but Shepard had enough quarian experience to at least read the arches of their eyes and she was sure of what was running through Kenn's mind.

"You're thinking of seeking him out, aren't you?"

"I kind of need to. Have you seen my _face_?"

"I was wondering about that, but you carry a big gun, so I wasn't going to risk it," he admitted. "What _did_ happen to your face?"

"When I find out," she began after chugging from her flask. "I'll be glad to let you know."

Her name was thrown around in the news – sometimes pictures would follow – but according to most of the galaxy, she was dead. And she was staying dead. No one around paid particular attention to her; didn't even always look right into her eyes because the facial scarring. They might have noticed a resemblance but, coincidences happened.

Also, drunk people. And high people. There were a lot of them around here. More distractions to keep her hidden.

"By the way, there's some mercenary recruiter in Afterlife. Seems like all the major gangs are uniting in some sort of all-powerful attack. Blue Suns, Eclipse. Blood Pack. Five hundred credits if the mission's successful and survived." Kenn cleared his throat awkwardly. "Not like I have any doubts when it comes to you. You…definitely look like you can hold your own."

Kenn seemed to always walk on egg shells around her. Apparently something about her just screamed 'piss me off and I'll blow your fucking head off.' Some cases, it was true. But Kenn right now seemed to be like the only sober and sensible person on this goddamn rock, so she dealt with the nerves. "What's the prize?"

"Archangel," he explained.

She hummed thoughtfully. _The turian vigilante._

"Err, more specifically, his _head_."


	2. Chapter 2

"She was fairly capable when she awoke," Miranda had explained, arms crossed but keeping a proper posture, albeit stiff and riddled with masked nerves. "And resourceful. Took down a good bit of mechs, salvaged the weaponry she could carry."

"And she escaped," said the holograph of the man before her, a cigarette burning in his fingers. Darkness had shadowed most of his features but those glowing eyes of him stuck out, and even though she'd convinced herself she trusted him, there was still something that gnawed at her. "Sounds like Commander Shepard. Can't say I'm exactly surprised. But she's your project, Miranda. We can't have her running around loose just yet."

"I'm aware, and we've been tracking her movements on Omega. Nothing…peculiar. Keeping low, showing herself just for the sake of survival." The situation wasn't terribly disastrous _yet_, but Miranda couldn't help and wonder what her mental stability was like. Her memories. There were a few tests she wanted to run _before_ exposing her back out there.

This was not going according to plan, but it could be worse. _Sort of_

"Good location, though. Archangel. Mordin Solus. Zaeed Masani's been debriefed; had to move a few bit of credits for him to keep an eye on her. Let it play out for now. See what happens. If not…"

He paused, taking a drag from his cigarette.

"Bring in those familiar faces. If there's anyone that can persuade her, it's them."

* * *

Archangel. Archangel. _Archangel._

There's not a lot known about him. Most rumors pin him as a turian, a few pin him as a vorcha, and she heard one guy say he was a volus. No offense to the tubby race, but _no way in hell. _So it was just safe to assume he was turian, and left it at that.

And on a fucking asteroid where crime is what makes everything and everyone run, having someone trying to cleanse it is apparently a big taboo. She'd hear civilians rave about his deeds, but now the crosshairs are on him and he's got a small army ready to tear him to shreds. And even though she was still desperate for credits, she wasn't desperate enough to go after someone who's trying to do the right thing.

As stupid as it was right now, anyway. Whoever it was had guts, she'd give them that much. Right now she had other concerns.

She stopped by Kenn's Salvage for some weapon mods he'd found. She threw some credits his way but not much; he was fine with that, as long as there was _some_ flow of credits coming in his way. As a thumb of rule though, she kept a fair distance - Kenn asked questions she didn't know how to answer yet. Shepard figured she'd try and be productive. Get her mind off a few things, even with Galactic News announcing information about humans disappearing on colonies and whatever conspiracy theories they came up with.

There was always something wrong. Strange to not be the one fixing shit right now.

Afterlife was typically a place she'd like to avoid. The smell bothered her more than the high concentration of crime - people were too drunk to find bathrooms, so there were puddles of alcohol and piss and vomit. Unfortunately, Afterlife was also the home of the best jobs.

And where some of the weirdest people met.

There was a guy she passed around the corner. One glimpse and she could already tell he was some sort of veteran; tattoos marked his arms, he had a funky eye and he was cursing at a batarian with some accent. She heard violence in the form of a gunshot after she passed, but didn't bother turning around.

It wasn't any of her business, until she realized she was being followed.

"You're not being very subtle here," she said with a sigh and finally turned around to lock eyes with the man she'd seen earlier. After a better glance, she had the feeling he was someone who she probably shouldn't fuck with, but when did that ever stop her before? "I'm a little too young for you, pops."

He made a face at her showing clear disgust. "Oh, _fuck off. _If I wanted some ass, I wouldn't go after someone in armor and armed, unless I wanted my bloody dick blown off."

Shepard cocked her head to the side.

"You're new," he kept going. "Had my eye on you for awhile. Kept your movements quiet. But when you kill, you do it like you've done it as a fucking profession before. You've got brains _and_ brawn on you. And."

_And_?

A chuckle rumbled his throat. "You've got a _remarkable_ resemblance to a certain dead human spectre."

She twitched, fingers curling to reach for her gun. He stopped her by raising a hand.

"But I'm _sure_ it's a bloody coincidence."

It wasn't and he most definitely knew it. Something about his smirk gave her the urge to blow it right off his face, but she had a surprisingly strong sense of refrain today. Might've been the decent coffee she ended up getting today, but who fucking knew?

He didn't approach her to chat. Didn't want a cup of tea, didn't want to form a book club. He was here for a reason.

"Are you at least going to give me a name?"

"Drinks first." He motioned behind her. "First round's on me. Don't get used to it."

Dim lights, shadows and the constant intoxication kept them mostly unnoticed, but both of them could feel the eyes of armed guards stationed by two flights of stairs. Aria T'Loak's people, but they only bothered you if you had business with them.

Or if Aria wanted you for something.

They sat down, ordered drinks, and he introduced himself. She'd heard his name before and she sat there, brows furrowed in thought until it came to her. Good thing she didn't try drinking yet, because she would have either choked or spit it all over his face.

"So, you've heard of me," Zaeed stated with a strong sense of smugness and a shit-eating grin. "Looks like we're _both_ quite the celebrities."

"Who the hell sent you?" No more games. She figured Cerberus, but she wanted to hear it straight from his mouth. She slid the drink towards him, unsure if she could even trust it – could have been poisoned with _something._ She wasn't about to take her chances.

"Does it bloody fucking matter?" Zaeed helped himself to the drink just to demonstrate her paranoia. "If I wanted you dead, I would have blown your goddamn face off by now. Got a job. Might interest you. Money's going to be good, if you do it right and don't fuck it up."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "You're recruiting me."

"Technically," he pointed to the lone mercenary on the side. "_They'll_ be recruiting us."

It clicked instantly. "Not interested in going after Archangel."

"We're not going to _kill_ him. We're going to need him."

"_You're_ going to apparently need him. Your business, not mine." Shepard stood up, having had enough, but Zaeed wasn't about to let her go so easily.

"You want to know who sent me, then?" Whatever patience he had – and it wasn't much – was growing thin. "Once you and your goddamn ship were blown to pieces, your crew got split. New council didn't trust you, apparently – all the shit you did to uncover Saren and that bloody cuttlefish machine was blown to hell. Everything you fought and died for; ignored. And if you're the same goddamn Shepard, no way in the devil's blue balls are you going to do _nothing_ about it."

He struck a nerve – a lot of it had to do because he was right, and a small part of it had to do with the fact that he said her name out loud. It's not like she was the only Shepard that existed in the goddamn universe, but _c'mon._

"I had a team back then," she crossed her arms, scowled and looked away. _And a ship. A beast of a ship. The best motherfucking ship there was._

"Then we'll get you a new bloody fucking team. And whatever the else you're going to need to be a big goddamn hero."

Shepard glared. "Not that easy. My people were _good._ If there's anyone else who knows how to deal with-"

"Your people are gone right now. It's been two years. Get over it and move on; they sure as hell did." He downed the last shot like water and stood. A scowl colored her face but she couldn't exactly say he was wrong, either. "Think about it."

He still hadn't told her who sent him, but he made a deal – she helped him get Archangel, and he'd tell her exactly what she needed to know. She was reluctant and Zaeed couldn't _blame_ her, but his patience had gone to shit and he wanted to get it all over with.

"What's in it for you?" Shepard asked him once they left.

"Right now? Money. Later on? Fucking revenge. After that? More money." He left right after, surely to handle whatever remaining business he had on Omega before they set off.

_Spoken like a true bounty hunter._

Then, a click of a gun echoed behind her.

Shepard raised an eyebrow but ultimately stayed still.

"Human," she heard the voice say. _Batarian_, she assumed with a roll of her eyes and suppressed a sigh. "Aria wants to see you. And you better not make her wait."


End file.
